


Quality

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Plot/Plotless, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:59:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gokudera ties Yamamoto’s wrists down before he does anything else." In their years together, Gokudera has learned some measure of patience, and Yamamoto reaps the benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubyFiamma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/gifts).



Gokudera ties Yamamoto’s wrists down before he does anything else.

The other man offers no resistance at all. He is in fact grinning by the time Gokudera finishes stripping his shirt off him, offers his wrists for the clasp of the fabric before Gokudera even asks. It would be irritating, this absolute willingness to submit, if he weren’t flushed warm with anticipation before Gokudera has even touched him, if his breathing weren’t coming out-of-rhythm before his belt is even loosened.

It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s coming, after all.

“Why don’t you use rope?” he asks after Gokudera has tightened the knots down against the sharp edge of Yamamoto’s wrists so he can lead the other man to the bed by the makeshift leash. The silk of the fabric -- a black tie, one of several identical ones belonging to Yamamoto -- is smooth against Gokudera’s fingers, slips over his palms until he has to loop it around his hand to gain traction.

“It’s more convenient,” Gokudera offers without turning around. He moves alongside the bed; Yamamoto climbs over it, toppling forward to the sheets before twisting smoothly onto his back, raising his arms above his head so he can close his fingers around the line of the bedframe, wrap his hands into a loose hold while Gokudera loops the ends of the tie around the bars and cinches them tight. “And it’s not like you’re going to need it.”

“Guess not.” Yamamoto has his head tipped back so he can watch Gokudera’s fingers working on the knots; it draws his throat long and graceful, casts the scar at his chin into the light so it fades almost into invisibility. It reminds Gokudera of when they were young, years and years before when this sort of intentional deliberation would never have occurred to him.

There are some benefits to maturity.

When Gokudera moves Yamamoto tips his head back down, watches the other man move around to the side of the bed so he can lean in, angle a knee against the mattress and lean in to reach the buckle of Yamamoto’s belt. He could go slowly, make a show out of this, but he doesn’t; Yamamoto is breathing harder already, and Gokudera can see the pace of his inhales speed as he tugs the fastenings free with businesslike efficiency, giving his best impression of unconcern as he slides the zipper open and drags the fabric down off Yamamoto’s hips as the other arches up in obliging support of the action. The fabric slips free and Gokudera shoves it aside, lets it crumple forgotten to the floor because he has more important things to worry about, including and especially Yamamoto spread out across the sheets in front of him, breathing hard and stripped almost-bare.

A part of him wants to rush. His younger self would, did, back when he would take quantity over quality and frequently did. He knows better, now -- he hesitates, considers the rushed breathlessness of the night before -- or at least they’re become more varied in their pursuits. It’s a different sort of pleasure, to let the anticipation tremble along his spine and under his skin, fret itself uselessly against his own clothes while he trails a fingertip down the exact center of Yamamoto’s chest.

“What are you going to do?” Yamamoto asks, his voice remarkably even over his curiosity even as he tips his hips up in encouragement. Gokudera doesn’t have to push the other man’s boxers aside to see Yamamoto going hard against the thin fabric; it never does take very much, once Gokudera starts touching his bare skin. He’s dragging at the restraints, too, not from any clear intent to pull free but just like he’s appreciating the tension in his arms, checking to be certain he’s well and truly tied down.

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise,” Gokudera points out without looking up. He can just see Yamamoto’s crooked smile in his periphery, the sharp angle of the other’s chin as he tries to see what Gokudera is doing; it makes Gokudera feel powerful, the control of the situation as hot as arousal in his veins until he can’t tell one from the other. “You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise.”

“I always do,” Yamamoto agrees, and Gokudera curls his fingers under the elastic of waistband and slides his boxers off his hips and down over his thighs. There’s a temptation, as soon as his cock is free, for Gokudera to dip his head, breathe or lick or suck or all three together to win himself a throaty groan from the other, but he resists, stays focused while he strips the last of Yamamoto’s clothing off and casts it aside. Yamamoto is fully hard before Gokudera has reached out to touch the bare skin at his hip, breathing quicker until every inhale has the edge of a whine on it, but Gokudera doesn’t look at his face, yet. Instead he lets his gaze settle against the tan of Yamamoto’s legs, traces the line of his thigh slowly with his eyes to leave no doubt about where he’s looking. Yamamoto shifts when Gokudera sighs, lets his knees fall open in explicit invitation, and Gokudera takes the offer, replaces his gaze with his fingers and strokes up against the warm inside line of Yamamoto’s leg.

He looks up, as his touch climbs higher, glances up through his hair so he can watch Yamamoto watching him. It’s always thrilling, even now, even after all these years, to see that clear-eyed trust written in his features, that expression that says he’ll let Gokudera do anything he wants without a flicker of hesitation. There was a time the adrenaline from that was terrifying, like falling off an unexpected ledge; now the swoop in Gokudera’s stomach is more familiar, excitement more than fear, and he can manage the start of a grin as he holds the other’s gaze.

He draws his fingers up higher, skims just against Yamamoto’s balls and against the hot line of his cock, silently urging the other man’s hips farther off the bed until Gokudera can fit his hand under Yamamoto’s thigh. He takes the other’s weight, holds him up while he lowers his own body, folds in closer to the bed so he can press his lips against the high inside crease of the other’s leg. He can feel the shudder of reaction, the tiny gasp of response, and Yamamoto angles his leg out farther, makes an offering of his skin as Gokudera fits his fingers around the shape of the other’s cock without looking.

“I love you,” he says, softly so Yamamoto will only feel the vibration against his skin and not hear the words. It’s easier, knowing he doesn’t have an audience, and even then Gokudera moves quickly to distract the other from curiosity. His wrist is twisted at an awkward angle but his grip is steady, and when he strokes up the gasp he earns from Yamamoto seems to suggest the other doesn’t mind the odd positioning. Gokudera can feel the muscles in Yamamoto’s legs drawing tense against the idle press of his lips, his back arching enough that his hips are entirely clear of the bed, and Gokudera takes advantage of the strain in the angle, the effort in Yamamoto’s position, to press in close enough to touch the very tip of his tongue to Yamamoto’s entrance.

He is expecting the jerk of reaction he gets, the groaned “ _Hayato_ ” that sounds like pleading as much as encouragement. For a minute Gokudera lets Yamamoto hold his strained position, strokes his hold up over the other’s length with teasingly slow strokes while he glides his tongue just over sensitive skin. He can feel Yamamoto starting to shake -- even he can’t hold this position for very long -- so he draws back after only a few seconds, slides his hand up from Yamamoto’s thigh to the curve of his ass and pushes.

“Turn sideways.”

Yamamoto obeys instantly, angling his leg up against his chest with remarkably flexibility as he turns. Gokudera has to let his hold go, replace his arm across Yamamoto’s hip before he can resume his steady rhythm, but Yamamoto is trembling in anticipation before he even touches him, and there is nothing Gokudera likes more than Yamamoto shaking. He ducks his head again, distantly appreciating the improved angle for his hand, and this time when he presses his tongue against the other he pushes hard enough to slide just inside him. He can feel the shudder ripple all through Yamamoto’s body, quaking through his thighs and shivering down his spine, and when he slides in a little farther there’s a flush of heat that twitches Yamamoto’s cock against Gokudera’s fingers. Gokudera’s sure, then, that the other isn’t going to last long as they are; that’s okay, his clothes are starting to feel constricting against the radiant heat of his skin, and given his plans for the evening it’s not like he has to restrain himself at this point. So he tilts his head, thrusts as far as he can with his tongue and strokes up hard with his hand, and Yamamoto’s spine curves, arches into bowstring-tautness for a moment before Gokudera hums vibration against his skin and presses his thumb against the head of his cock and Yamamoto trembles himself right into pleasure. Gokudera stays still for a moment, appreciating the irregular ripples of involuntary reaction he can feel all through Yamamoto’s body; then he pulls away, lets his somewhat-sticky grip go, and slides off the bed so Yamamoto can roll bonelessly onto his back.

“That’s not all, is it?” he asks before he’s collected his gaze from the heat-hazed stare at the ceiling.

Gokudera tugs his coat straight on his shoulders, turns his back on the sweat-sheened glow of Yamamoto’s skin so he can move to the dresser. “You’re so  _demanding_ ,” he growls in mock frustration as he works the buttons on his coat loose and starts to slide his tie free of its knot. “You couldn’t come again right now if you wanted to.”

“We could try,” Yamamoto chirps, all the energy he’s sustained since middle school combined with the suggestive tone he’s only picked up in more recent years. “ _You_  could come.”

“Shut up,” Gokudera says, shrugging his jacket free so he can carefully drape it over the back of a chair. “You’re still an idiot.”

Yamamoto laughs at that, delight and physical satisfaction rippling together in the sound, and Gokudera grins with his back turned so Yamamoto can’t see his expression. His tie follows the jacket, the buttons at his cuffs and the highest point of his collar slip loose, but he leaves his coat and pants on, in spite of the erection currently pressing against the inside of his slacks. Waiting is part of the plan, patience just another skill to be honed. He rolls his loosened cuffs up past his elbows, rumples the white fabric out of the way before he opens the drawer of the dresser to retrieve the bottle of lube tucked into the back corner.

Yamamoto is just starting to blink himself back into awareness when Gokudera returns to the bed, bumps his wrist against the inside of the other man’s knee to urge his legs wider again. Yamamoto moves before he tips his head up so he can smile at the other man.

“You look good,” he says, the compliment coming easily to his lips like he’s not even thinking about it. “I mean, you do all the time but especially right now.”

Gokudera narrows his eyes, forces the smile his mouth wants into a frown. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this.” He’s careful with the lube as he gets it open, keeps it contained to just three fingers and sets it aside where it’s still in easy reach. “You can beg all you want, I’m not going to untie you until I’m done with you.”

“I don’t mind,” Yamamoto volunteers. He’s watching Gokudera’s hands, now, instead of his face, and there a twitch of movement as he starts to go hard again. He’ll need longer than he’s had, Gokudera knows, but his eyes are going hazy and hopeful with the lingering shadow of pleasure still across his features, and laid out like this Gokudera knows he stands no chance at all of keeping his hands off the other man.

“You wouldn’t,” Gokudera huffs, attempting irritation instead of giving away the anticipation and want bleeding together in his veins. It’s not convincing, even to his own ears, and Yamamoto’s mouth curves into the knowing smile that only makes things worse for Gokudera’s composure.

“Hayato,” he says, and that is  _not_  fair, he knows how Gokudera gets hearing his name in that slow purr. Gokudera ducks his head to hide his expression, reaches to brace Yamamoto’s hip to the bed so he can slide his fingers over the damp left by his mouth, and Yamamoto turns his leg, angles his ankle so he can slide his leg between Gokudera’s. It’s a bit of a stretch but he’s always been flexible, naturally or as a result of his unreasonable love of sports, Gokudera’s not sure, and this isn’t the time to think about it at any length. Yamamoto is pushing up, fitting his leg in against the front of Gokudera’s pants so he can shift and grind pressure against the other’s cock through the fabric. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” Gokudera insists. He feels he should push Yamamoto’s leg away -- it’s not nearly time for that, yet, Yamamoto is still far too coherent -- but he can’t make himself move, can barely hold himself back from the urge to rock forward for more pressure. He sets his mouth into determination instead, drags his attention back to what he’s doing instead of what Yamamoto is managing with the twist of his ankle. His fingers are slick enough and Yamamoto is probably relaxed enough to take two fingers at once, but he needs longer to recover, still, so when Gokudera slides into him it’s just one, angled so the other two stroke against Yamamoto’s skin as he eases in. Yamamoto sighs like he’s rediscovering the feel of satisfaction, tips his head back and drags idly at the tie around his wrists, and Gokudera does forget, then, that he’s resisting the urge to rock forward, slides his legs farther apart and tips his hips to dig himself hard against the warmth of Yamamoto’s skin.

“Fuck,” he says. When he starts to move his hand Yamamoto arches off the bed to meet him, and he’s fully hard again, Gokudera can see the pink flush rising along his cock in response to the slide of Gokudera’s fingers against him. “ _Fuck_ , you are…”

“Hayato,” Yamamoto says, and it’s starting to take on that chanting note he drops into in exchange for coherency. “More, please more.”

“You’re not even ready for more,” Gokudera protests, but he slides his hand back to push another finger inside the other anyway. “ _Ngh_. Fuck, Takeshi, you look so fucking  _desperate_.”

Yamamoto laughs, throaty and low, pushes up with his ankle and arches up the bed in a single move. Gokudera can feel the tremble of Yamamoto tightening around his fingers, the ripple of reaction hot all around him, and his resolve quivers like it’s under attack, flags and nearly fails. It would be so  _easy_ , Yamamoto’s ready for him and hard against the sticky mess at his hip and Gokudera  _wants_ the friction of him, he wants to fumble open the front of his slacks and push Yamamoto’s leg up and just sink himself into the heat of the other man all in one smooth motion.

He groans, lets Yamamoto’s hip go in favor of grabbing the other’s knee and pushing his leg back and away. It’s a capitulation of itself, an admission that the teasing is getting to him, but without the friction against his cock he can reform his determination as he shoves Yamamoto’s leg up, lift him half-off the bed so Gokudera can gain a little extra depth to the thrust of his fingers. Yamamoto shudders at the change, the tremor running through his body turning into half of a laugh in his throat, and Gokudera grins sharp and bright and moves faster.

He means to be gentle. They’re not in a rush -- that’s half the point, right now -- but he’s not paying attention to the pace of his hand, he’s distracted by the flushed skin of Yamamoto’s cock going harder against his stomach, and when he thrusts in with his hand it’s harder than he planned, rough enough that Yamamoto’s fingers tighten involuntarily at the bedframe, his eyes shut and his throat tightens on a groan, and Gokudera’s patience vanishes.

“Fuck,” he says aloud, and that’s all the warning he gives before he’s pressing in as deep as he can reach, curling his fingers to draw sensation in the wake of his touch, to draw Yamamoto’s throat tight and his legs tense against the bed and Gokudera’s bracing hand.

“Hayato,” Yamamoto says. It’s maybe supposed to be a plea, a request for less; it just sounds like a gasp, coherency drawn taut over a moan. “You’re --” Gokudera tips his wrist, thrusts in hard so Yamamoto jerks against the bed. “ _Ah_. That’s -- you’re going  _fast_.”

“I  _know_ ,” Gokudera purrs. Yamamoto is twitching in response to each movement of his hand; Gokudera can see the head of his cock going slick as his body tries to keep up, responding to the bursts of sensation Gokudera is drawing from him. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

Yamamoto jerks his head, instant negation to the question, and Gokudera grins in satisfaction even though Yamamoto’s eyes are shut and he can’t see the expression. The other’s features are drawing tense as if in concentration, a line of focus is appearing at his forehead, his breathing coming fast and strained. Gokudera wants to lean in, press his mouth to Yamamoto’s to taste the anxiety under his inhales, but he stays where he is, waits for the words he can see collecting on Yamamoto’s tongue. “I just -- I’m not sure I  _can_  come again yet.”

“Wanna bet?” Gokudera asks, tightens his fingers to shove hard inside Yamamoto’s body. There’s another reflexive quake of pleasure, Gokudera can feel it tightening against his fingers as much as he can see it shaking against Yamamoto’s hips. Yamamoto blinks his eyes open, looks down to meet Gokudera’s gaze, and Gokudera smiles at him, the expression drawing lopsided and hot with intention, before he slides his hand at Yamamoto’s knee down the back of his thigh, around to curl his fingers around the other’s balls. They’re tight under his fingers, drawing up as if in anticipation, and Yamamoto lets his leg fall sideways, offers his skin for Gokudera as the other slides back on the bed to dip his head to Yamamoto’s stomach.

He eases the rhythm of his hand, falls into a slightly slower pace so he can still hear the shudder of pleasure under Yamamoto’s breathing but can turn more of his focus to slicking his tongue across the flat line of Yamamoto’s stomach, against the edge of drying come at his hip. The bitter is as familiar as the salt of Yamamoto’s skin, draws a purr of satisfaction past Gokudera’s lips before he realizes he’s making any sound. He can feel Yamamoto laugh too quietly to hear in the moment before he kisses his way sideways and touches his tongue to the slick head of the other man’s cock. Yamamoto sighs, more in relief than surprise, and Gokudera opens his mouth wider, slides his lips down over the hot length of him as he draws Yamamoto far back across his tongue. He stays still for a moment, appreciating the radiant warmth at his lips; then he shifts his hand to ease another finger inside the other’s body, to feel the way Yamamoto stretches to let him in. It takes him a moment to steady his rhythm; then he starts to increase the pace of his thrusts again, falling into an easy pattern before he slides back, draws the salt at Yamamoto’s skin across his lips and slow-slick friction over the other man’s length. The weight of the other’s balls on his fingers is trembling, reaction flickering through the entirety of Yamamoto’s body; when Gokudera curls his fingers to press gentle sensation against him, he can hear the breathing stall in Yamamoto’s throat in the moment before he glances up to see the expression on the other’s face. Yamamoto’s mouth is open, his tongue touching just against his top lip in unconscious response to what he’s seeing, and Gokudera can feel a smile pulling at his lips before he opens his mouth wider, takes Yamamoto farther back in his mouth without breaking eye contact. His wrist is starting to ache but he’s not slowing the rhythm of his movements, he’s shifting his angle slightly with each motion, drawing closer to the perfect pressure as he slicks his tongue up again to collect another spill of pre-come.

“Hayato,” Yamamoto says, his voice audibly shaking now. His legs are trembling against the sheets, Gokudera can see his wrists going white with pressure as he pulls unconsciously at the ties on his hands. “I’m--”

Gokudera thrusts in again, can feel the satisfaction of accuracy even before his fingers push hard against Yamamoto and shatter away whatever he was going to say. Yamamoto’s head falls back, his words disintegrate into a moan, and Gokudera closes his mouth against his cock, sucks hard up over him as the ache in his arm is forgotten under the need to move faster, the need to thrust harder against that perfect spot so Yamamoto’s breathing cracks into groaning, the other man gasping desperate gulps of air as his body starts to resonate itself into pleasure under Gokudera’s hands and mouth together.

“Hayato,” he says again, like it’s the only word he can manage to choke out. Gokudera can hear the tremor under his voice as much as he can feel it shaking through his body; it makes him nearly laugh, purring with the success of his plan so the vibration falls in against the hum of Yamamoto’s skin. Yamamoto gasps, whimpers high in his throat, and his entire body arches up off the bed for a moment. Gokudera can feel the breathless strain in his limbs; then he tightens the suction of his lips, thrusts in as hard as he can with his fingers, and Yamamoto collapses to the bed, groaning desperate shaking satisfaction as he comes against Gokudera’s tongue. There’s not much; Gokudera swallows without pulling away, drags the last shudders of response from the other’s cock before he slides his mouth away, lifts his head to watch Yamamoto’s face as he eases his fingers back. Yamamoto is lying boneless and still across the sheets, the tension gone from his face and body both; Gokudera watches the tiny shift of his eyelashes against his shut eyes, the motion of his chest as he tries to catch his breath while Gokudera fumbles the buttons of his shirt open. Yamamoto doesn’t move as he tosses his shirt aside, barely shifts at the sound of Gokudera’s belt buckle and zipper coming undone. His mouth curls into a smile as Gokudera slides off the bed to strip off the last of his clothes; by the time the other is coming back Yamamoto has managed to open his eyes, is touching his tongue to his lips as he pieces sound back into his throat.

Gokudera doesn’t wait for coherency to come back; from the look of it that’s still several minutes out, and this is  _exactly_  what he wanted, Yamamoto glazed and too overheated with pleasure to even speak. He tips Yamamoto’s legs up, makes space for himself since Yamamoto is shaking too hard to attempt any sort of deliberate movement. Yamamoto doesn’t protest, just stares at Gokudera’s face with his mouth open on his breathing and his eyes shadowed over and dilated almost entirely black with pleasure. Gokudera’s fingers are barely slick, still, but it’s enough to slip over his cock, the direct sensation enough to shudder up his spine and through his shoulders with anticipation before he tips his weight forward, reaches out to brace himself with a hand just against the line of Yamamoto’s restrained arm. He blinks, collects his attention on Yamamoto’s expression as he adjusts his angle, and he’s watching the other’s face as he starts to thrust forward. He slides in easy, smooth and slick and warm all at once, and Yamamoto’s eyelashes flutter, his mouth trembling on an unvoiced sound as Gokudera thrusts all the way forward all at once.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gokudera says, and he can’t keep his thoughts in line, his eyes are going out-of-focus as everything but sensation whites out in his head. Yamamoto is still shivering with aftershocks, his body tightening reflexively around Gokudera’s cock until Gokudera has to go still, wait for his self-control to come back before he dares to move. Yamamoto’s not even tugging at the restraints at his wrists anymore; his arms are just as limp as the rest of him, exhausted and trembling against the bed until Gokudera has to duck his head, press himself in closer, so when he finally does slide away to thrust back in his skin drags heat and friction all along the sweat-sticky of Yamamoto’s chest with it.

“Takeshi,” he says, close-up, just against the corner of Yamamoto’s mouth. Yamamoto is gasping against his cheek, his breathing impossibly hot and arrhythmic with lack of control, and Gokudera’s heart is pounding faster as if trying to match the pulse fluttering against the other’s throat. “Takeshi, are you listening to me?”

“Hh,” Yamamoto manages, tips his head in sideways so his lips drag against Gokudera’s. His eyes are shut again, his mouth open so the contact isn’t even quite a kiss, but it’s enough, he’s at least partially listening. Gokudera catches Yamamoto’s lip between his teeth, bites gently so Yamamoto whines and leans in closer, managing a kiss before he opens his eyes to stare at Gokudera’s face in a semblance of attention.

“You’re going to come again,” Gokudera says, clear and slowly so Yamamoto can follow the statement. Yamamoto blinks, huffs a laugh that is at least a little disbelieving, and Gokudera says again, “You’re going to. For me, Takeshi, understand?” He closes his fingers at Yamamoto’s hip, braces him in place while he settles himself into a rhythm he can maintain for a while, or at least long enough. “I’m going to keep fucking you until you do.”

“Hayato--” Yamamoto says. It sounds faintly like protest, mostly like a disbelieving laugh, but it tastes like heat and pleasure and vibration, and when Gokudera covers the sound with his lips Yamamoto opens his mouth wider to offer himself for the other’s use. Gokudera takes him without hesitation, tastes up along the texture of Yamamoto’s mouth and the slick damp of his tongue while he rocks his hips up, keeping the steady pace of his motion without thinking.

He resists longer than he expected. All his skin is flushed in barely a minute, sensation purring up his spine like sound made tangible, but he focuses on the taste on his tongue, the bitter of come far back in his throat and the warm sweet of Yamamoto’s mouth at his lips, and for a while it’s enough to hold off the pleasure. But the ripples of warmth start coming faster and faster, forming into the threat of waves, and eventually Gokudera has to let Yamamoto’s hip go, reach down to close his fingers tight against the base of his cock to hold off the rush of satisfaction so he can keep his promise. Yamamoto’s hard against his hip again, he’s trembling with every motion of Gokudera’s hips, and Gokudera doesn’t have to pull back to know his eyes are entirely out-of-focus again. But this isn’t enough, it isn’t going to be enough on its own, so Gokudera pulls away from Yamamoto’s mouth, pushes himself up onto his knees so he can look down at the heat-damp sheen of the other’s skin.

“You first,” he says, again, and he can hear the tension of restrained pleasure thrumming in his throat. “You first, Takeshi.” With his weight over his knees he can reach down to close his fingers against Yamamoto’s cock, press the radiant heat into his skin, and start stroking against him while still holding his own orgasm at bay. Yamamoto jerks at the motion, groans in the very back of his throat, but Gokudera can feel the other man’s body tensing around his cock and he’s not about break his promises now. He adjusts his balance, keeps thrusting as the heat under his skin levels off just shy of satisfaction, pounds in his head in desperate plea for relief, but he doesn’t loosen his fingers. Instead he takes a deep breath, keeps his attention on what he’s doing, tightens his grip on Yamamoto and presses his thumb against the underside of the other man’s length as he drags up. Yamamoto moans weakly, his head falling to the side like he can’t remember how to keep it upright, but Gokudera can feel the flutter of tension drawing up under the other’s skin again, the shudder of instinctive expectation tighten around his steady thrusts, and he keeps stroking against Yamamoto’s length as the other’s breathing stutters around something that might be an attempt at Gokudera’s name. Then Yamamoto takes a breath, deep and shuddering, holds it so long Gokudera would be worried if he couldn’t feel the desperate edge collecting under his skin. Gokudera takes a breath of his own, thrusts in as deep as he can manage with the hold he has on himself, and manages to fit his throat around words as he drags his hand up over the other’s quivering length. “Takeshi,  _come for me_.”

Gokudera doesn’t know if it’s the words, or the slide of his fingers, or the sharp motion of his hips, but it doesn’t matter. Yamamoto’s spine arches, his wrists drag at the tie holding him in place, and he wails and jerks with the insistent pulse of pleasure under his skin. Gokudera lets his grip on himself go as soon as Yamamoto tightens around his length, throws his hand out to catch his weight so he can lean back in, and he manages about half of one last thrust before the withheld wave sweeps over him and knocks him as incoherent as Yamamoto for a moment. There’s hot skin at his mouth, the curve of collarbone at his lips, but Gokudera can’t even manage a kiss or an approximation of Yamamoto’s name; he can’t  _see_ , can’t think, can’t move except to shiver helplessly against the other’s body as he comes into him in wave after wave of pleasure.

Gokudera catches his breath before Yamamoto does. He’s blinking vision back into clarity, finally pressing that kiss into the other’s shoulder, while Yamamoto is still panting like he’s drowning. Gokudera pushes up onto an elbow so he can reach up and tug the knotted tie loose but Yamamoto doesn’t move, stays still with his eyes shut and his mouth open on those desperate gasping breaths, not reacting even when his arms fall to the bed over his head. His wrists are pink from the friction but that’ll fade; Gokudera is fairly sure there won’t even be a bruise.

“Takeshi.” No reaction. Gokudera frowns, touches his fingers to Yamamoto’s face to tip his head up. “ _Takeshi_.”

“Hnn,” Yamamoto whimpers, but he blinks his eyes open, brings his gaze into focus on Gokudera’s features with a visible effort of will. His eyes are hazed and glassy with pleasure, but his mouth is curved around the edge of a smile even around the deep gulping breaths of air he’s taking, and Gokudera’s frown flickers away into a smile of his own in the space between heartbeats. He ducks his head, presses his mouth to Yamamoto’s for a moment, and the other starts to smile in truth before Gokudera pulls back again.

“I love you,” he says, careful with every word so they carry the right weight.

Yamamoto’s smile slides wider, lights up the dazed satisfaction in his eyes into affectionate delight. “I love you, Hayato.” It’s easy on his lips, the phrase falls as simply and sincerely as it always does, and when he reaches up for Gokudera the other comes back in for another slow kiss before Yamamoto’s fingers have tangled into his hair.

They have learned how to makes things last.


End file.
